Never Tear Us Apart (Never Tear Us Apart #1)

  Yeah. I push him firmly out of my mind for tonight.

  Katie looks at me as if she has no idea what I’m talking about and then she starts to laugh, the sound soft, almost musical. “I’m not much of a wine expert,” she says as she closes the door behind me, turning the lock. Trapping us inside together.

  There’s nowhere I’d rather be.

  “Me either,” I admit with a smile.

  Her laughter dies as she blatantly drinks me in. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks,” I say casually, allowing my gaze to drift over her in return. “So do you.”

  No answer, just a sweet smile as she tears her gaze from mine. Despite the usual hesitancy, the typical shyness that is Katie, she seems different from the last time I saw her. More confident somehow, yet also carefree. No darkness clings to her tonight; it’s as if she’s shed her nervousness. As if that panicked moment at the movie theater never happened.

  “Then I hope your wine goes well with chicken, since that’s what I made,” she says as she walks through the house toward the kitchen.

  “I’m sure it’ll work. I deliberately chose something uncomplicated.” I try to take in her place, see if I can catch a glimpse of Katie nestled among all the little details that are on the bookshelves and the coffee table, the color of her couch, the patterned rug, the walls, the photos and art on her walls. But I’m too entranced with the swing of her hips, the scent of her, light and airy, that lies just beneath the heavier smells coming from the kitchen.

  I could inhale her forever.

  “I made chicken Marsala,” she announces as she goes to stand behind the tiny island in the center of her kitchen, setting the bouquet of flowers on the counter. “And salad and garlic bread.”

  I’ve never eaten chicken Marsala in my life. I grew up on ramen noodles and fast food. My father hadn’t been a big believer in eating healthy and we sure as shit didn’t eat anything that sounded fancy, with words like Marsala in the name.

  “Sounds great,” I say as I come to a stop on the other side of the island. She still needs the barrier between us and I’m fine with that. Whatever makes her comfortable. I’m in her space, so I won’t push. She’s calling the shots tonight. I’ve handed over the power to her and she probably doesn’t realize it. “Smells even better.”

  “I hope it tastes okay. This is the first time I’ve tried this recipe.” She blushes and looks down at the flowers, rubbing a velvety burgundy petal with her fingertips. “I should find a vase for these.” Turning around, she opens a cabinet, then takes a step back so she can look at the very top shelf. I glance up, catching sight of the lone vase sitting on the shelf, and know there’s no way she can reach it.

  “Let me help you,” I start as she protests she can reach it when we both know she can’t. I stop just behind her, so close my front presses against her back as I reach around her and grab the vase and hand it to her. I don’t move away, my arm still curved in front of her, and she takes the vase from me, our fingers grazing, electricity sparking where we touched.

  “Thank you,” she says breathlessly. She remains in place, as if she’s almost afraid to move, and now I reach for her, tease the strands of hair close to her right cheek with my index finger before I slowly tuck them behind her ear, my finger lightly tracing the curve, teasing the pearl earring she wears, before my hand drops.

  “You look pretty tonight, Katie,” I tell her, my voice low, my thoughts complete chaos. I’m strung tight. I’ve been here less than five minutes and all I can think about is exactly how far she will let me go tonight.

  Because I want to touch her. Kiss her.

  Desperately.

  “Okay.” Will stopped in front of the low, nondescript building that looked like it was built sometime in the sixties or seventies. It was ugly, with a squat, flat roof, the walls constructed of brick that was painted a washed-out green. It reminded me of what a prison should look like. “We’re here.”

  My thoughts weren’t too far off. “This is the police station?” I rubbed at my gritty, stinging eyes like I was a little kid.

  I was tired. My brain wasn’t firing right and I couldn’t wrap my head around . . . anything. I just wanted something to drink. To find somewhere to lie down so I could close my eyes, at least for a little bit. I wanted Mom and Dad. I wanted to go home.

  “Yeah. So go.” He pushed at my shoulder, kind of roughly, and I stepped away from him, turning so I could face him. “What are you waiting for? Get out of here.”

  “What do you mean, ‘get out of here’? You’re not walking in with me?” I asked incredulously.

  He shook his head, all that raven hair falling in his eyes, his mouth thinning into a straight line. I could still see the hoop of his lip ring, his tongue darting out to tease it, and I waited breathlessly for his answer. It took forever and when the words finally came, haltingly, a little shaky, I closed my eyes, knowing he would say something I didn’t want to hear.

  “I . . . I can’t, Katie.” I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, his expression pained, his eyes so dark. Bottomless, really. “I go inside with you and my entire life will change.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want his life to change. How good could it be, having that—that horrible, disgusting man as his father? Did he do things to Will? Did he abuse him and force him to do . . .

  “I don’t know—it scares the shit out of me.” Will’s voice was harsh. “I’d rather just avoid my dad and not have to deal with anything, you know?”

  “No. I don’t know.” I was angry. Mad he wouldn’t come into the police station with me. Mad he’d pushed me like I didn’t matter. I didn’t get him. He was a contradiction, a confused, scared, lonely boy who figured it was better to stay with his monster of a father than try and get help. “You have to come inside with me.”

  He rushed toward me, gripping my shoulders and giving me a slight shake. His touch didn’t hurt, and his face in mine didn’t scare me because I could see the fear in his eyes, feel it in his shaking hands as they held me. “Your life is perfect, do you realize that? You have a mom and a dad. A sister. A family who loves you, probably a lot of friends who think you’re nice and teachers who care about you. You don’t know what it’s like to go hungry because your dad spent all the money he had on booze and drugs. You don’t understand when kids make fun of you when your clothes don’t fit and your shoes have holes in them. You have no idea what it’s like to have your dad drag you into his bedroom and make you watch when he . . .”

  His words came to a complete stop, his breathing ragged. I stared up at him, horror filling me at those final words he just said. At everything he just said. My life had changed. I knew this without a doubt. But he was right. I had no idea what it was like to be him.

  I’d dealt with his dad for only a handful of days. Will had been dealing with him for a lifetime.

  “Things will get better,” I told him as I reached up to touch his forearm. He flinched beneath my hand, his fingers loosened their grip on my shoulders, and eventually his hands dropped away from me. I felt oddly cold without his touch. “You’ve suffered for a long time. They’ll help you.”

  “No they won’t,” he said bitterly. “They’ll probably think I had something to do with this.”

  “You’re just a kid,” I pointed out. A kid like me, but he really wasn’t. His life was nothing like mine. He’d seen and done too much, things that couldn’t be taken back. “They’ll take care of you.”

  “I’ll be thrown into the foster system and they’ll forget about me. Or they’ll accuse me of raping you and toss me in jail.”

  It was my turn to rush toward him. I clutched at his hands, held them in mine as I stared into his eyes. “I won’t let them. I’ll tell them the truth. They’ll believe me. Just please, Will. Come inside with me.”

  He stared at me, hesitancy written all over his face. I had him. I knew I did and I tugged on his hands, turned us so we were walking toward t
he front door of the police station together. I steered him toward those double glass doors, knowing that men and women who would help me find my parents were just beyond those doors, and I hurried my steps.

  Will broke free, his expression full of remorse as he shook his head. “I can’t, Katie. I just . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey!”

  I turned to see a uniformed officer standing in front of the doors, holding one of them open. He frowned at me as he started walking in my direction. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the way Will was frozen in place, like he wanted to bolt but couldn’t.

  The officer jogged toward him, huffing and puffing as he drew near, his gaze hard as he stared at me. “Aren’t you that missing Watts girl?”

  “Yes.” Relief flooded me and I nodded, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “I am. Please, please help me.”

  “Who’s that?” The officer flicked his chin toward Will and he ran. Just flat took off without a backward glance and the officer followed after him, telling him to stop or he’d shoot.

  Panic rose within me. “Don’t shoot him!” I screamed, my entire body trembling violently. “Please! He brought me here! He saved me! Will, stop running!”

  Will was young and fast. He could have easily outrun the older, overweight police officer, but he slowed his pace. Came to a complete stop. Turned around with his hands held high, his T-shirt riding up with the movement and offering a glimpse of his flat, pale stomach.

  I didn’t remember much after that. A swarm of officers—both uniformed and plain clothed—came outside to surround me. A woman wrapped her arm around my shoulders and led me inside, her voice calm and soothing as she informed me she was going to contact my parents right away. Saying what a miracle it was that I was there, safe and sound. In one piece.

  I couldn’t tell her that I was actually splintered into many pieces and that I doubted I could ever be put back together again.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted Will. Saw the way the officer grabbed hold of his arm and escorted him behind us. I saw the sullen expression on Will’s face, how grown-up he looked, with his tall body and long arms and legs. Yet his expression was vulnerable, scared, and my heart cracked when our gazes met.

  “I’m sorry, Katie!” he yelled above the din, his voice pleading. Broken. “I broke my promise.”

  I couldn’t answer him. The female officer wouldn’t let me, jerking on my shoulders as we entered the cool, quiet sanctuary of the police station. She turned so we went down a darkened hall, her arm still around my shoulders as she mentioned my parents, my family, the need for me to go to the hospital so I could be examined. The words blurred, as did everything else, and I was so overwhelmed, so tired and shaky and hungry and thirsty, I couldn’t concentrate on any of it.

  All I could think about was Will. Would he be all right? Would this be the last time I ever spoke to him? Did he think I hated him?

  That was the last thing I felt for him.

  The very last.

  I’m so nervous I’m practically shaking. We ate dinner and he actually liked the chicken Marsala. It was a dish I’d never made in my life, but I remembered how much Dad loved it when Mom would make it. That was a long time ago and I wanted the memory to fuel me. Help me create a new memory.

  It worked.

  During dinner he didn’t talk about anything personal and neither did I. We talked about the weather and current events and pop culture–type stuff, which made me nervous because I’m fairly certain I was front and center pop culture–wise only a few weeks ago. I mentioned growing up in the Bay Area and he said he grew up in the very town where the amusement park was. I told him I was home schooled and that my parents were overprotective—a complete understatement.

  He didn’t say much at all about his family. Made vague mentions of his dad, said his mother took off when he was small and he has no recollection of her. He changed the subject every time I tried to ask him a personal question and I wondered if he was trying to hide something.

  Snippets of his past were few and far between. I wanted to know more, but considering I wasn’t ready to volunteer everything yet either, I kept my mouth shut.

  It was easier that way. At least for now.

  Once we finished dinner, Ethan helped me wash the dishes and we laughed and joked the entire time, which was fun and sweet and so incredibly normal, I enjoyed it. I’ve enjoyed the entire night, especially because of the normalcy. I haven’t felt this good, this completely comfortable in my skin, since I was twelve.

  How sad is that?

  But I’m not comfortable anymore. Though my discomfort isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Ethan’s on the couch, his arm slung across the back of it, his legs spread wide in that way men sit. I’m not used to how much space he takes up, how he seems to eat up the atmosphere when we’re in the same room together. It’s overwhelming, exhilarating, and I come to a stop in front of the couch, two cold bottled waters clutched in my hands.

  “Should we watch something on Netflix?” I ask as I round the coffee table and sit on the couch, setting the bottles on the table.

  “Do you want to?” he asks. His knee nudges against my thigh and I wonder if he moved it there on purpose. If he can feel the electricity crackle and flame between us, even when our bodies barely brush against each other.

  We’re practically combustible.

  “I suppose,” I answer with a shrug.

  We both remain quiet for a moment and I glance over my shoulder to see he’s watching me, his gaze drifting down, seeming to linger on my backside as I sit on the edge of the couch before he lifts his head, his gaze meeting mine once more. “I’m not in the mood to watch a movie tonight,” Ethan says. He studies me almost hungrily, his gaze roving over my face, and my heart flutters at the look in his eye.

  “Okay.” I turn away and face forward once more, swallowing hard. Almost afraid to look at him again. I’m being ridiculous. I know it. But I have no clue how to behave, what to do. My mind races and I hope he doesn’t think I’m hopeless. “What do you have in mind?”

  His hand drops from the couch and lands on my lower back, slowly smoothing upward, his fingers spread wide, seeming to touch all of me, all at once. My eyelids waver and I force myself to keep them open, savoring his touch. I bend my neck forward, a rush of breath leaving me when his fingers slip beneath my hair and circle around my nape, gently holding me there.

  “I don’t want to scare you,” he murmurs, his deep, rumbling voice seeming to vibrate deep within me.

  “You’re not,” I whisper, sucking in a breath when his thumb streaks across the side of my neck.

  “I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he continues in this low, hypnotic tone that lulls me. Seduces me. My limbs feel heavy, as does my head. My blood is languid as it moves sensuously through my veins. His thumb sweeps back and forth, so light I almost don’t feel it, causing goosebumps to rise.

  I don’t answer him, don’t want to turn around for fear he’ll stop touching me. I’m perched on the edge of the couch, my entire body softening with his every touch, and when he runs his fingers through my hair I almost want to purr in pleasure.

  No one has ever touched me like this before.

  “Come here,” he whispers and I finally turn to look at him, his fingers tightening on my neck, pulling me closer. I go willingly, he doesn’t have to force me to do anything, and the next thing I know I’m fully encircled in his arms as he draws me into his warmth. His hand still around my neck, his other hand resting on my back, our mouths are perfectly aligned.

  But he doesn’t kiss me, not yet. It’s as if he wants to torture me. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I ache. I ache so bad I curl my fingers into a fist, my nails biting into the palm of my hands. His lips hover above mine and I can smell his breath, warm and fruity from the wine we consumed earlier. The very wine that makes my head buzz the slightest bit now. He licks his lips, as if anticipating my taste, and something hot and foreign begins t
o throb low in my belly.

  A matching throb beats between my legs.

  “Tell me if I’m moving too fast, okay?” He touches my cheek, that same thumb that stroked my neck only moments ago now on my face. Caressing me, driving me insane as he runs it across my skin. Everything he does is slow. Deliberate. He doesn’t ask, though he’s cautious. He makes sure I’m all right, that I’m good with whatever is about to happen between us.

  And then he just . . . does it.

  My eyes close with absolute trust as his mouth falls on mine. I feel like I’m still falling at the first touch of his lips. A free fall into open air as my stomach rolls and turns, everything inside of me going loose and making my head spin. All from the subtle shift of his firm mouth as he steers the kiss and it becomes more determined. I part my lips and he swallows my shuddery exhale, just before he touches the tip of his tongue to the center of my bottom lip.

  I go still at the sensation and he does it again. Tentative yet assured. Bold yet inquisitive. I don’t react when he slips his hand into my hair, his fingers curling around the strands and giving them a gentle tug. I reach out and rest my hand on his chest, feel the accelerated beat of his heart beneath my palm, and I shift closer, wanting to feel more of his warmth, his strength.

  Wanting to feel more of him.

  He ends the kiss and pulls away to study me, his brows drawn down, his lips damp. With my other hand I touch his face, my fingers drifting across the line of his jaw, his prickly stubble abrading my thumb. He watches me, his glasses gone, and I don’t remember him taking them off but I like him like this. Open and warm and vulnerable, quiet and calm and . . .

  Sexy.

  He closes his eyes and presses his lips together, his jaw going rigid. It’s like he’s trying his best to control himself, control his emotions, and a thrill courses through me that I have enough power to make him react this way.